


Swan Song

by zodesune



Category: Haikyuu!!, The Inheritance Trilogy - N. K. Jemisin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood, F/M, Magic, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Threats of Violence, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zodesune/pseuds/zodesune
Summary: For centuries, I have been running. From death, from a life lived, from him.To stop will be the death of me. If I am to die, I have one last request.xZora is the daughter of the god Enefa and a human. Her very existence is forbidden. Mortals of her kind have been hunted down and wiped from the face of the earth, but for centuries, she evaded capture. Tired of being hunted by a ferocious, relentless godling, she decides to surrender. When she meets the mysterious Atsumu and Osamu, she may find a way to make all her final wishes come true.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: The Smut Pile Fantasy AU Collection for My Hero Haikyuu and Attack on Titan





	Swan Song

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of The Smut Pile's server collab! The story takes place during a time mentioned in the books, but long before any of the books take place! I hope I can entice you to read the series, because honestly it’s fantastic and one of my greatest sources of writing inspiration.

Running.

For years, decades, I have been running. From death, from a life lived, from _him._

I am _so tired_. My soul is weary, if I have such a thing.

To stop will be the death of me.

If I am to die, I have one last request.

Let me _sing._

...

“I knew they were coming when the air changed. The wind sings, you know. Melodies, easterly, westerly, all hauntingly beautiful. The winds began to sing in harmony, the closer he came, the more dissonant.

_Elontid_ , the wind sighed. _Elontid comes for you, Zora, comes for your blood. Nearer, ever nearer. One to give death, one to take life, one in the same. Elontid. Closer, come t—_

I shut the windows and told the wind to bugger off. It will quite literally go on all day, if you give it an ear.

Judging by the eerie cacophony of the wind yammering outside, I deduced he would arrive with the winter, if not sooner.

I knew not who he was, only that he had been hunting me for centuries. As far as I could tell from brief glimpses over time, he was broad shouldered, skin as smooth and light as an unbroken coast, slanted eyes and a regal nose. Ferocious, dogged in his pursuit. Determined to wipe out every last one of my kind, the word which shall not be named. We are considered mistakes, lethal weapons, our very existence is a threat to the gods. That is why I ran, for it was my only choice.

I used to hide in cities, densely packed cities, where bodies overlapped and erased all trace of each other, like waves on a shore. How easy it is to lose yourself in a city, especially in the turmoil pursuant to the God’s War. But there are ways to be found, and he very nearly caught me, more than once.

I needed money, you see. I always needed money back then, and jobs for a person like me were either frightfully dull, or exceedingly difficult to come by. The longest job I had was with a wealthy benefactor clinging to youth, then to old age, then to life, using my magic to revive himself each time. He was mortal. They tend to die awfully quickly.

I am different from humans, not godling different though. How so? Well, the godlings _can_ die, I _will_ die, therein lies all the difference. There is a name for my kind, but it physically pains me to hear it, let alone say it, for I have never produced anything but goodness, healing—and the occasional snark, but anyone without some negativity is a liar and not to be trusted.

Hang on, does any of this make sense to you?

I fear if I have to keep going in circles to explain this all, I’ll probably be murdered before I finish the story.

So. Where to start? The beginning, I suppose?

Before anything else (that I know of, at least), there was the Maelstrom. Don’t ask me what exactly it is, I don’t know. It’s the universe, the source of all things, sentient and unknowable, you get the gist. Aeons after the beginning of everything, the Maelstrom started creating things, for no apparent reason. Boredom? Perhaps loneliness? Most of those creations were volatile and inexplicable, and they died before they could ever amount to much. Then, the Maelstrom created Nahadoth, The Lord of Darkness and Chaos, fantastic name, really. Nahadoth was alone for a very long time, being darkness personified and generally hanging around, as gods are wont to do.

After some time, the Maelstrom thought (if it can think, who knows), 'You know, I did a good thing there. Let me make another thing to complete that first thing, so it isn't lonely.' Thus it created Itempas, the Lord of Light and Order. Both are genderless but they apparently present as men when in human form, which comes as a surprise to no one at all. Rumour has it that Nahadoth has long, obsidian hair, like tendrils of darkness, so soft it feels as though you are running your fingers through existence itself, yet wild and impossibly unruly. Nahadoth towers over mortals, but Itempas is apparently even taller, with hair and eyes that shine like the shadow of gold, so dark they almost appear green. That is, unless he becomes impassioned; they burn so bright that none have been able to discern a colour, for it is too stunning to behold with the naked eye. I suppose it would be odd for the gods to look anything other than impossibly beautiful, wouldn’t it?

So, Nahadoth is darkness and chaos and Itempas is light and order, and they are both to some degree ‘men’. You can guess what happened when they met.

They tried to kill each other.

For hundreds of thousands of years, those two fought furiously, tore into each other, into the sky, into the very threads of existence. After a while (a while being countless millennia) they decided it was becoming rather pointless and awfully dull, so they began pleasuring each other instead, for several millennia more.

Nahadoth and Itempas were lovers for a very long time, and they believed they were meant to complete each other, yet, somehow, they felt incomplete. That is, until the maelstrom in all its inexplicable and terrifying wisdom, created Enefa, the Lady of Life, Mother of Mine—I’ll circle back to that later.

Enefa is—was the god of Creation. Once she came along, all three of them got into it, and lo and behold, pregnant. Enefa 'gave birth' to godlings, some with Itempas and some with Nahadoth. They are called Enefadeh and, I have learnt, they all have a nature to which they must be true. The god of childhood, or whispers or time or revenge, they are their most powerful when they act according to their nature. That was confusing for me, at first, but you shall understand soon.

So, all is well for a long time. Enefa creates humans, the humans are fascinating creatures, the gods and godlings roam among them and obviously, one thing leads to another, they begin making babies akimbo. Those babies, the children of deities and mortals, grew up to be powerful, at times worryingly so. Some of them held such delusions of grandeur that they believed they could usurp the gods themselves. Can you imagine? What has to go through someone’s mind to think, ‘you know who I should piss off? A god.’?

I mean, we are powerful, without a doubt but not _that_ powerful, you know? At least, not whilst we’re still alive.

Now, after having eviscerated my kind from the face of the earth—how did I survive? How old do you think I am! I was not yet born.

As I was _saying,_ they were obliterated from existence and the gods decided never to create them again. I exist because gods change their minds an awful lot.

However, and this is a very significant however, because this is not what the world has been taught, so pay attention. After some time, Nahadoth and Enefa began to draw closer. They had certain proclivities that were far better suited to one another. I suppose, being the god of order, that Itempas might have been rather stiff in the bedroom in some respect. Whatever the case was, Itempas very quickly found out. He does not like to feel _less,_ in any respect. Rather than confront the two of them or confront his loneliness, that bane of human existence that had to come from _somewhere_ , he ran away like a sulky little bi—oh, I probably shouldn’t insult a god in the palace of his chosen people. I wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of the Arameri. Then again, I’m already a doomed woman, so what can the scourge of these snobby oligarchs do that a god cannot?

Anyway, Itempas disappears, losing himself within the arms and between the legs of some human woman. He had a child. For reasons beyond my knowledge, the child died. I would like to think that Itempas did not murder his own son, but what he did subsequently was awfully suspicious. Itempas used the blood of his child, the progeny of mortal and deity, and he killed a god. He murdered Enefa. He threw the entire world into turmoil because of his selfishness, because he could not stand to be alone. He is the reason why we are known as ‘demons,’ for he used our blood to do the impossible. He murdered my mother. I had never met her, obviously, I only knew my birth mother, but it was still very offensive.

In the wake of her death, the world flipped itself over. Obviously, no one had thought it possible to kill a god before, let alone made a contingency plan. But one appeared. Itempas and these bloody Arameri, they took over. Now here we are. The world continues to spin.

Why I am being hunted is a mystery. I have lived for over a century in utter solitude, cut off from all of humanity. I had thought that would be enough proof that I am not a danger to humankind. And with Itempas in the ether and Nahadoth in a dungeon somewhere, what anyone could possibly hope to achieve by harvesting my blood is beyond me.

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The last time I saw him, I was here. Well, not _here_ , not in the palace, but thousands of metres down below, in the city under Sky. I reasoned, the last place he would come looking for me is under the noses of the all-powerful Arameri. Even more difficult for him, for godlings were interdicted from being amongst humans by Itempas himself. I knew by then that the person hunting me was sent by Itempas; who else would dare flout his law, risk the wrath of the god who ‘executed’ his own counterpart for ‘treason’? Though he may have been permitted to walk amongst mortals, I knew that he would not be allowed to harm a hair on their heads. I surrounded myself with a tight-lipped team, the sorts of people you would need to torture to get directions to the bathroom. 

I found a bar that would pay me to sing, cover up for my magic. One would certainly need a reason to explain why the customers left feeling years younger. ‘The fountain of life’ they named their happy hour. The actual fountain was a ghastly thing made of glass that dispensed all manner of liquors, none of which were nourishing for the body. They did quite the opposite. But when I sang, the people came alive.

Very soon word spread of the wondrous bar. Try as they might, the club owners could not keep the secret for too long. Whispers and speculation abounded, and soon the eyes that watched me as I sang began to covet me even when my mouth was closed.

I knew I should have left town, I knew it was too risky, but I could not resist the temptation to sing.

There came a night when I barely escaped with my life. The light had faded, but the bar was yet to fill. Low tables lay dotted around the room, circling the fountain like petals to a flower bud. I stood behind a gossamer curtain, dressed in a radiant gown. It was rather a tricky thing to get in and out of, but it was one of my favourite possessions. On my shoulders lay epaulets of woven silver, beneath which the spun-silver fabric of my dress was fastened. On the hanger it looked very much like curtains on a rod, but when the attendants dressed me, they would loop each strand around my body, weaving an intricate bodice of criss-crossing fabric, flowing up and around and down, just like the fountain. At the top of my hips, the weaving gave way to a cascade of fabric that spilled over the floor. It wrapped around my body in polished silver, my brown skin laid against it like a precious gem. When I walked, the dress would sway, revealing the stretch of my legs, the curve of my thighs. In it, I looked resplendent. When the warm bar lights were cast upon me, the dress lit up, iridescent. It transformed into shimmering gold, the colour of magic. It was breathtaking.

I felt a pair of eyes upon me, which wasn’t unusual on its own, but I knew immediately the sensation of being hunted. He had dark eyes, sandy skin, a sullen stare, a strong jaw and the hints of dark hair beneath his hat. Handsome, if a little intimidating.

It was the way he looked at me, as though I was the person he had been searching for all along. To be fair, I was. But it was more than that. It was like he wanted to hold me in his arms, then rip me apart with his bare hands. I felt a wholly unfamiliar feeling grip my belly, and a fire ripple up my body.

On the matter of fight or flight, I tend to fall on the combative side. I have been described as ‘warlike’ on more than one occasion. However, only a fool would square her fists against a godling. A complete and utter nitwit would do so against a godling with unknown power. I knew better.

I had two options. My immediate choice was to shatter the glass fountain into thousands of pieces and run away in the ensuing chaos. Whilst the frequency required to shatter glass was safe—enough—for the mortal ear, the power I would need to reach it across the room would make everyone in the room bleed from their ear drums. I’m not in the habit of indiscriminate killing. Better to have one godling after me than an entire city of Itempan soldiers and scriveners. Besides, he would have seen my plan the minute I began bellowing, and likely shut me up with a swift slash of the throat.

No, I had to be smarter, lead him down a labyrinth so complex that he would get lost trying to follow me. I strode onto stage, my dress trailing like stardust behind me.

“Good evening,” I addressed the crowd, avoiding his eyes entirely lest he guess what I was up to. “Tonight, we begin with a new tune, a tale of a land far away. Emi ni Zora dau she Avikel ennu tai wer Cumen kanna Darre. My name is Zora, daughter of chieftain Avikel of the Cumen clan in the Darre tribe. May I introduce to you the Orisun quartet who will be accompanying me tonight,” I swept a hand to the musicians left of the stage before I closed my eyes and drew a memory. “This is the song of my home.”

From between my lips came a melody of smooth skin and stone, swirling into the air in golden flecks, for once visible to the human eye. I saw an image as clear as the corporeal, watched as the magic upon my breath spun itself into a picture around me. The gold flecks and florid lyrics were mere distraction, sending ripples of awe, confusion and fear through the crowd. Only I could see the scene appearing before me, one of an arch-lined corridor of the finest red clay, gleaming tiles of marble, tinted rose in the fading sunset. Home. The regal home of my mother, the chieftain of our people. I condensed it to a shimmering plane, an archway that appeared before me, separating me from the crowd, from my hunter. By the time he realised what I intended to do, he was a split second too late, or so I thought.

I dashed through the portico, my shoes clattering on the marble tile as I sprinted through the palace. I heard the trumpet sound alerting all of an intruder, the rumble of boots and women’s shouts, the all-too-familiar din of the warriors of Darr. Though this had once been the home of my mother, she had passed centuries ago. No one would remember, let alone believe who I was. I did not stop singing, conjuring an image of a street by the waterfront. A picture came into view as I heard a low growl and the thud of boots chasing after me. He had made it through before my magic faded to nothing. I could only imagine what chaos lay behind us at the bar.

I had at least succeeded in drawing him away. Then came the time to lose him. Leaping through the conjured window, I burst into the alley beside a crowded marketplace. I had hoped to enter unnoticed, but I was heralded by the flutters and squawks of a fowl coop I crashed through. Yanking a cloak from a table I passed, I hastily secured the hood around my head and gathered the train of my dress as I ran. Though over a hundred years had gone by since I last set foot in Darr, this marketplace had been my childhood playground. I knew how to disappear.

Down narrow streets and across small squares I darted, twisting and turning around serpentine corners. Through windows I clambered, out of doors I snuck. Only when I was sure I had lost him did I dare slow down. In a dark archway, I doubled over to catch my breath. Rasping, I began to sing a shaky tune, a song of the city below Sky. I saw my bedroom, modest though it was, my sparse belongings stored neatly and my sheets still strung across the line by the window. Everything worth protecting, I kept on my body at all times, yet that cubby hole of an apartment had become my home. I felt relief wash over me.

It turned to ice. A hand enclosed around my neck. I was wrenched upright, my song straining to a cry.

“Sing another word and I will crush your throat,” the voice was dark yet calm, speaking to me with casual disregard. I felt a breath upon my ear, smelt the scent of evergreen and jasmine. Though my mind was frozen, my body melted into his touch, for it called to me like the song of a forest.

“How did you find me?” I breathed an idiotic question, the only thing that came to mind.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not. What do you want from me?”

“Your blood, for a start,” his voice was the rustling of leaves.

“To-to drink it?” my breath hitched in my throat.

“Don’t be crude,” he intoned. “I have orders to slay you where you stand, but I have a feeling that when he sees you, he will reconsider.” Suede-soft fingers traced across my collar bone, gathering the bow of my stolen cape and dropping it to the ground with a succinct tug. His fingers continued down my arm, leaving the churned soil of my skin in their wake. I shivered against his body. My neck felt hot and slick against his palm.

“What, that I am beautiful enough to make my life worth sparing?” I rolled my eyes in spite of the very real danger I faced.

“No,” he sounded bored. “It is not how you look, but who.”

_Who? Who could I possibly—_

“Enefa,” I whispered. I felt him shift behind me.

“You know?”

“I know that she is my mother, but I did not know that I looked like her,” I murmured. “Why would that change anything?”

“Grief works in mysterious ways,” was all he said. When he took a step backwards, ridding my body of his warmth, I took my chance. Grasping the hand behind my head, I threw my body forward. I wrenched him over my back and sent him tumbling into the conjured window. I didn’t wait the split second for it to close; I was already sprinting in the opposite direction. Running into an open square, I surrounded myself with bodies, singing a low song that sent magic spiralling to my feet. A child in front of me gaped, mouth open. She blinked and I was gone.

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There was no return home. I had sent the godling catapulting into my apartment, which meant I could never return. That is why I kept everything I needed on me, always. I boarded a caravel for a distant shore, stowed myself in the underbelly as it rode through a storm. That first night I slept in my temporary home, headed to the coast of a sleepy fishing town, I thought of the man who hunted me. I had not seen his face up close, but I had felt him. When I closed my eyes, I could still feel the swell of his muscles, the savoury-sweetness of his breath on my skin, and I flushed all over again.

Tucked between coarse, cotton sheets, I let my hands roam my body. I yearned for him. Rather twisted, isn’t it? I finally met the man who intended to kill me with his bare hands, and I longed for his touch. As I lay in the bed, I felt his fingers tighten around my neck as a coil tightened in my body. My fingers slid through my folds, swirling around the centre of my pleasure, faster and harder, spurred on by the feeling of him and somehow by the knowledge that he could have snapped my neck if he wanted to. Something within me snapped, and I cried out for a face with no name. My screams were drowned by the roaring wind, the beating of rain against the bow. I found no sleep that night, for I crested upon my fingers, fucking myself over and again, rising and breaking over waves until I felt tears in my eyes.

A century passed before I saw him again. By then, I had found my home in the forest, away from the eyes and mouths of people who would give me away. There was an abandoned castle, its ceiling caved in. I restored it with wood grown by my own voice. Around it I grew an impenetrable thicket, a fortress of foliage too forbidding to venture into, and I locked myself in. I desired nothing, no one, for everything I needed I could provide with my own hands. Thus I lived, a life that was simple, filled with small joys. I even began to think I might grow old in my forest, sing a tomb around my body and lay myself to rest, feed the earth that comforted me. I felt safe. Until the day the winds changed.

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He found me in the forest.

Running is a word that has nearly lost all meaning, but I swear to you, I ran. I tore through the thicket, my limbs scratched and scorched by the whipping of leaves. A right at the baobab tree, straight over the ravine, follow it upstream to find home. I knew the way to safety.

A tree root shot from the ground, slicing the earth. I stumbled to the left and veered off the path, crashing into the underbrush. He was closing in. I felt him, the tremor in the ground, the tightening in the air. I felt him, though I could neither hear nor see him.

To my right, I saw a flash of movement, cutting me off from the path. I turned and ran, favouring one side to cut an arc through the forest. Wherever I thought to go, I would feel him already waiting. It was like he was toying me, in two places at once.

The forest changed around me, growing less familiar by the step. Home was behind me, I knew that, and receding quickly. He was pushing me further away, into terrain strange and unknown. I could have sworn the trees were not of this earth, that is how fast I sped by. The rattle of branches to my left sent me shooting off, careening over the start of a gorge. It was either running through the narrow, rocky valley or continuing into the darkest belly of the woods. I sped straight onwards.

My heart was a waterfall pounding in my ears, my throat a dry, jagged ravine. On any day I could run for hours without stopping, but fear will make your limbs forget, mire you with limitations. That day, I understood what it meant to fear.

The forest that I knew as surely as my own reflection was unfamiliar, a dark, verdant green, terrifying in its brilliance, in its endlessness. I ran. As I leapt over brook and boulder, I felt the tendrils of a familiar comfort.

There was magic at play.

I did the only thing I could think of to survive; I opened my mouth and I sang. My voice was the wind that shakes the frost from trees, the air that urges nature to breathe.

My magic speaks life into the living. It is a gift from Enefa herself.

As I sang between breaths, my limbs grew lighter, I could run, no longer weary. I drew in every plant around me, concealing myself in a tunnel of foliage, showing me the way home. I felt relieved, pumping my limbs as I sprinted through the passageway. I could feel refuge on my fingertips.

Then came the attack. Roots, leaves and branches contorted around me. For every vine that whipped around to ensnare my feet, the trees around me cleared, cleaving a window around me, making it impossible to hide. Branches whipped and dashed through the air, spearing and splintering trees older than time, tearing apart the forest in their ferocious pursuit of me. It was magic stronger than I could ever conjure, concealing and revealing, separate machinations all at once. That it could come from one person turned my veins to glaciers. Terror is the coldest sensation I have ever known. I would die there, if he caught me. His magic was strong enough to overwhelm me, and without the protection of human bodies, there was nothing stopping him from razing every tree to rip me apart.

I came to the clearing where my home should have been. Instead, I found the face of impenetrable rock, towering into the sky. Tears clouded my eyes as I climbed, desperate for higher ground. My hand slipped, I slammed into the stone. My skin tore open but I did not bleed. I kept climbing. I clambered onto a rocky plateau, a long stretch of peninsula jutting into open air. Behind me lay the forest, the tips of trees far enough below that if I jumped, they would impale me. Ahead lay an ocean, stretching out further than the mind can comprehend, its frightful waters crashing onto the rocks, painting them a startling cerulean. I stood upon the rock, watching the waves become one with the roots of trees, and I knew what I had to do.

I turned to the cliff’s edge, to the point where rock became air, and I sprinted at full speed until the earth disappeared from under me.

“No!” I heard the voice of peril itself, felt fingers claw at my ankles as I flew through the air. I escaped. Then I fell.

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I awoke screaming, thrashing in my bedsheets. My heart was convulsing so hard that it folded my chest in. I heard a hundred birds take off from the trees around my house at the terrifying sound of my screech. My house. My bed, I was in it, unharmed. I didn’t bother wondering if it was a dream, because I knew it was real. There is magic in dreams, even a child can tell you that. But I know that magic does not concern itself with what is and is not real. It makes concepts tangible, it closes the distance between space, it brings what is hidden to light.

In every town bordering the forest, he must have searched for me and found nothing. Generations had passed since I last saw another face. Exposing myself to whispers and suspicious glances would have brought on certain death. He had tried to scour the ether, to use magic to seize me in my sleep. It seemed an act of desperation, and even though he failed to capture me, he found the location of my home. That towering wall he erected where my home should have been, that was a sign, a threat. He was coming. There was nowhere left to run, nowhere he could not reach me, not even my own mind.

Had he shown me the way I would die? My body impaled, battered, bruised, ready to be drained of blood? Is that the way I would die: fighting until my last breath?

Not a damned chance.

Have you ever thought about how you would like to leave this world? Some people travel to the farthest corners of life. Some find comfort in the presence of family. Some drown themselves in misery, unable to accept their fate. I had seen enough of the world. All those I had loved had left me behind, their bones returned to the earth. I have heard that misery loves company, but I had none, so that was out. I knew that before I would close my eyes for the last time, I would enjoy every last delight this world had to offer.

I threw a damned party.

When the sun rose, I rode to the largest citadel to catch the morning market. I spared no expense, bought anything and everything that caught my fancy. The freshest bread rolls fathomable, still steaming when you pried them open. Cakes as soft as you have ever seen, of zucchini and cocoa, banana and toffee, coconut and lime, all prettier than spring fields. I bought one in every flavour. Decadent pies, marbled steaks, the finest wines money could buy. I bought a feast fit for an Arameri.

And oh, the rice. I fell apart over rice. Sweet rice with fresh cinnamon, steamed rice of fragrances unlike any other, fried, coconutty, spicy, soupy, colourful, I bought far more than I could eat, but I damned sure would try. My poor horse must have wanted to murder me herself, so heavy laden was she.

I arrived home and unpacked my feast, laying it on the wood-hewn kitchen table, ready for preparation. I took out every belonging I had left in the world, bathing in the memories. I soaked myself in a scented tub until my fingers looked like dates, using every last drop of salt and serum. I set a table on the rooftop garden, singing to coax flowers from the boughs overarching my house. Finally, I donned the dress of silver threads. My hands were not as deft as the attendants, so I covered my body far more sparsely than the first time. I hoped it would work in my favour.

Standing in the clearing before my house, I waited for him with a glass of the finest wine in hand. I waited some more. I was near-catatonic waiting for him. The wine that was meant as a welcome gift disappeared down my throat.

It came as the rushing of water, the rustle of leaves in the wind. Though no one appeared, I could tell that he was watching me from within the woods.

“You’re late,” I called out. “Come inside, I need to warm up the food again.”

“Food?” his voice was like the echo of water in a cavern. Still, he did not appear.

“Yes, well I thought I would spare you the effort of trying to kill me, again, and instead try welcoming you with open arms. I have been told that godlings go weak at the knees for a good offering.”

For a moment, there were no words, only the rustling and rushing. He stepped into the light, revealing a face that somehow seemed even more handsome than a century before. As my eyes travelled shamelessly down the length of his body, a wave of motion caught my eye.

“Wait. There are two of you?”

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“So which one of you is Elontid?”

“We both are,” the ashen-haired one spoke.

“You go by the same name? How is that not infuriating to everyone around you?”

The one with flaxen hair chuckled. “Elontid is not the name of a person.”

“S’a type of godling,” the first finished.

“A type?” I parroted.

The first nodded.

“An Elontid is a godling borne from Nahadoth and Itempas together, alone. We are not the children of Enefah, we are not Enefadeh,” the second explained.

A flush crossed my face, but I asked the idiotic question anyway; I didn’t see a point in holding back my curiosity with only hours left to live. “But how… but they’re both men…” I trailed off.

“Only when they choose to be. The gods have no need for gender. It is yet another trivial thing that mortals feel the need to define.”

“Can we eat?” The dark-haired one interrupted, eyes sweeping over the food. “I wouldn’t know what to eat on the last day of my life either, so I’m glad you chose… everything,” his compliment was nonchalant, casually ignoring the fact that I was dining with my soon-to-be executioner. I remembered enough about godlings to know that they did not need to eat, but they chose to do so when it pleased them. He looked entirely pleased.

It had taken little effort to change the table settings from two to three. I sat at the head, flanked by both deities. Whilst the dark-haired one voraciously sampled every single dish on the heavily laden table, the other introduced them.

“My name’s Atsumu, my brother with his mouth full is Osamu.”

“You are twins?” I asked in between a spoonful of lemon cake.

“In the human sense, maybe. Somewhat,” Atsumu answered. “We are a duality,” he narrowed his eyes at me, watching to see whether I understood.

I didn’t. But at that point I really did not care.

“More wine?” I smiled at Osamu prettily.

As the night wore on, I peppered them with questions, every mystery of the world I had ever wanted to know. They answered as candidly as possible, though there were often moments in which they were utterly confounded. The god’s realm has its own language, and many concepts that are entirely commonplace for godlings have no meaning in human tongue. They are far too complex to convey.

“I get that,” I chirped. “It’s like when you try to describe a dream. No matter how vividly you remember it, the words that come out of your mouth are wrong. There is no way to communicate what you saw with what you say. It simply does not translate. Right?”

“Sure,” Osamu smiled.

“Speaking of dreams, how did you enter mine?”

Atsumu grimaced. “We made a deal with our brother.”

“Let me guess, the god of dreams?”

“Clever,” Osamu’s smile widened. 

I had begun to notice a pattern between the two of them. Osamu tended to take the questions, whilst Atsumu tended to give answers. From one I received affirmatives, and from the other explanations. They worked seamlessly, finishing each other’s sentences, though not as though they possessed the same mind, but rather that they possessed two halves of a whole picture.

They regaled me with stories of Enefa, told me of ancient civilisations past, explained to me the complexities of time—I learnt that it is not in fact linear, as we were led to believe. Rather it is an intricate web, and some godlings possess the power to traverse it.

“So, about this duality,” my words were ever-so-slightly slurred. “What does that mean?”

Atsumu and Osamu began to explain to me the states of contrast and convergence, waves of light and particles of darkness, and when Osamu began to lapse into the gods tongue trying to explain their essence, I reached across the table and smushed my fingers over his lips.

“Explain it to me as though I am a child,” I grinned.

Atsumu lifted my other hand from the table, his eyes darkening.

“My nature is to give,” he lifted a square of fruit from the table, his hand hovering over my palm. He changed his mind, brought his fingers to my lips and slipped the fruit inside, watching the way my mouth took it in. I felt the way he seemed to vibrate, magic tickling the skin that connected my hand to his.

“And mine is to take,” Osamu leaned forward, grasping my face in a broad hand and planting a sultry kiss that licked the juice from my lips. When Atsumu tugged my hand, I turned to see a darkened smirk upon his face, a competitive glint in his eye.

“People often depict us as good and evil, giving and taking, but neither have a fixed morality. Give pain. Take away suffering,” he drew a trail of kisses up my arms. “Give joy…”

“Take pleasure,” Osamu murmured into my neck before he drew his tongue up my skin, tasting me.

As I sat stretched between the godlings, overwhelmed by the swirling of wine in my brain, the scents of jasmine and bergamot, pine and grapefruit, cacophonous and harmonious all at once. I nearly went cross eyed, feeling an otherworldly pleasure from their mouths on my skin alone. After over a hundred years of no one but myself, their touch was potent.

“I know what I want before I die,” I gasped, my need beaming like light through the fog. Their mouths stopped, suspended in the air.

“Oh. Yeah,” Osamu smirked as though suddenly remembering why they were there.

“Consider the mood ruined,” Atsumu grunted.

“I’m sorry, do you not want to execute me?” I snapped at him. With the light hair, the detailed answers and the short temper, it wasn’t hard to see which of his fathers he took after. Atsumu had Itempas written all over him. Osamu was darker, quieter, calmer. I could see the Nahadoth in him, and I favoured him more.

“What do you want?” his voice was a breeze over my skin, that beautiful evergreen.

“Both of you,” I breathed, sinking into the familiarity of him. This time even he stiffened beside me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. They withdrew, one after another.

“When godlings are intimate with other people, we open ourselves up, pour ourselves into the person we are with. There are parts of us, parts of the maelstrom that mortals are not meant to see: places, visions, concepts. With one godling, it’s already dangerous. With the both of us…” Atsumu trailed off.

“You would die,” Osamu finished gently.

“That’s entirely the point,” I splayed my hands in the air.

“We cannot take your life,” Osamu faltered.

“Yet,” Atsumu added, rather snarkily. “We have to take you to someone first.”

“Besides, Atsumu is rather competitive. He does not like to share,” Osamu’s mouth curled up.

“It can still be a competition,” my grin was as coy as they come. “Perhaps: who could make me climax so hard that I cease to exist.”

“No,” Atsumu gritted. Osamu only snorted, turning back to the food forgotten on his plate.

We ate in silence for a while. I mulled over my wine.

“Before you take my life,” I spoke into the rim of my glass. “I would like to sing.”

“Please, don’t—“

“I have nowhere left to run,” I cut off Atsumu’s exasperated sigh. “Since I cannot die as I would like to, on the peak of an earth-shattering orgasm, I would like to sing a song when I do.”

“Sing it now,” Osamu’s voice was low, compelling.

“Why? Are you about to kill me now?” I lowered my chin at him.

“No,” Atsumu narrowed his eyes. “But we’ll be sure to notify you when we do.”

I ignored him. Rising in my seat, I kept a hand on my wine glass, my eyes closed as I searched for that familiar feeling within me. Slowly, I began to sing a lilting melody.

_Ahowe,_

_wundo kwo è deyogo gàn_

_demewisëh basamė..._

The wind rose to carry the weight of my soul, singing a rolling harmony. As the melody danced into the air, the flowers that had closed for the night began to unfurl. All around me, the plants rose, stretching towards my mournful melody. I felt them, but I did not see them, for in that moment the pain of losing that sight forever was too great. I kept my eyes closed. I did not want to die.

I did not see the looks of rapture on their faces, nor did I see Atsumu rise and come to my side. I only felt him wipe away my tears, giving comfort to me.

“Stop crying,” his voice was without mercy or compassion, but in his eyes burned something indiscernible, wholly intangible, I knew not the words to describe it. I leaned into him, lifting my lips, inviting him in. He hovered over me, holding back. His eyes glazed over, shooting to Osamu, still seated, his fingers gripping the wood of his armrests. It splintered beneath his touch. It took me a moment to realise they were speaking to each other, that they entered the ether to argue between themselves. All I could hear was the rustling of trees and the rushing of water. From the looks on their faces, it was vicious.

Without warning, Atsumu turned away from me, storming down the stairs. Within seconds, Osamu took his place. I barely inhaled before his lips were upon mine, his hand gripping the flesh of my thighs, lifting me onto the table, wrapping my legs around him. His lips were endlessly inviting. Soft, plump and fervent, he poured kisses on me like spring rain. The heat rising from between my thighs could have set an entire forest ablaze. He sensed it, that change in me, and pushed closer, opening me up. Taking my lips between his teeth, he nipped and nibbled whilst his hands made short work of my dress.

Whilst he worked to untangle me from the confounding outfit—I certainly wasn’t going to help him, I was far too busy running my hands over his glorious skin—I caught my breath to ask, “What happened with Atsumu?”

Osamu bristled beneath me, suddenly trembling with rage.

“He won,” he gritted.

“What do you mean? He won, so _you_ have me?” I blinked. “Am I that repulsive to you?”

“He won, so I have you _first_. I have to hold myself back because you are unaccustomed to godlings. I could... break your... mind,” Osamu stitched together words in a common tongue, his brow frayed. “‘Tsumu will have you, and have the honour of taking your life,” Osamu balled his hands into fists, I heard strands of silver snap.

“You _want_ to take my life instead? What in the gods’ name is wrong with you?”

“Mortality is a gift,” he ran his hands through my hair pensively, turning strands of the ebony locs between his fingers to make the rings of gold adoring my hair sparkle in the light. The moment would have been utterly divine if I had not been contemplating my death. “It is within Tsumu’s nature to bestow gifts. In a contest of our power, even the concept of giving strengthens him.”

“So it strengthens you to take?” I gazed into his dark eyes, watching them move like a placid lake at dusk. The corners of his eyes crinkled when I asked, “is that why you took an extra helping of everything on the table?”

He erased the distance between our bodies.

“Well, you see,” he began, stroking the skin on my neck with his lips, “when you are hungry, and you have even the smallest mouthful of something delicious… you become even hungrier.”

“They should have dubbed you the god of hunger,” I chuckled, feeling light-headed.

“Ha! That would be my sister, Lil. Another Elontid,” he inhaled me, nuzzling his face into my hair as he pressed every inch of his body against me. I felt it again, that rippling like wind through a canopy, that curious sensation of evergreen.

“How are the Elontid different?” I asked, my desire to know him growing beyond the physical.

“Different… well, people say that we are more dangerous, chaotic, terrifying,” with each word he ripped another cluster of silver strands from my dress. “Lil in her truest form is probably the most terrifying thing you would ever set eyes on. Her mouth is so wide, it reaches the floor,” he lowered his mouth to my shoulder. “And it is lined with rows of teeth that rotate around the rim.” Osamu ripped an epaulet from my shoulder with his teeth, pulling it until the woven bodice fell open to expose my breasts. I had never thought much of them, the small, pert globes, barely big enough to fill a palm. But as I saw him gazing upon them, I had never felt more desired.

“And Lil is never sated,” he continued, grasping my breast in his palm, squeezing my flesh, rolling my dark nipples between his fingertips, “she always looks gaunt. Famished. No matter how much she eats. That’s the thing about the Elontid,” he paused, his breath heavy with lust. “When we are true to ourselves, it becomes near-impossible for us to stop.”

He ripped my dress open with his bare hands, the strands of spun metal falling apart like cobwebs beneath his fists. He devoured me with his eyes before his mouth came anywhere near mine. There was a moment of stillness, like the inhale before the first bite. Like a man starved, he was all over me, caressing my calves, gripping my thighs, squeezing my waist until I thought I might break. Feeling such an abundance of touch after so long, I became frenzied, desperate to run my bare skin over every part of his body. I was ready to tear into his garments, but he willed himself naked, and he was so. When I began to take, with my mouth, with my greedy fingers, I felt him grow. More powerful, more firm, but it was not until _he_ took that I saw his full prowess.

Tearing vines from the trellis above, he bound my hands behind my back, fastening them to the table upon which I sat. Osamu wasted no time in taking what he pleased from between my legs. I barely caught a glimpse of his largesse before my head rolled back. His tongue flickered against my bud, his fingers teased my folds, drawing hot, wet, anticipation from my loins. 

_Mnnnnnnnnh._ As he lapped up the liquid spilling from my walls, the boundaries of his body began to blur. I saw a glimpse of him, his true self, not soft, but lush and verdant like a forest canopy. I was so in awe of the sight of him, in all its forest-green resplendence, that my climax caught me unaware. 

A wave undulated down my body, cresting against his slicked face. I cried out his name, giving my own pleasure as an offering. I knew this of godlings: they can feel our prayers within them. I saw my cry reach his chest and I watched him grow, sprawling across the room like the roots of a banyan tree.

He rose from my sopping lips like a man pained. He was holding himself back, for my sake. I needed more.

“Take me,” I pleaded. I spread my legs as wide as the table would permit. Gasping, I willed him with every fibre of my being.

“Skies,” he cursed.

He kissed me. He poured himself into me. With every moan and sigh that escaped my lips, he grew. I felt him, the essence of him, all around me. I was cushioned on the softest soil, gazing up at the forest canopy. My body was the earth over which his hands roamed. When he groaned into my mouth, I could smell pine, dappled sunshine, the heavy anticipation before a summer rain. He _was_ the forest. I began to understand life beyond my beating heart. I felt it teeming in the earth, roosting in the trees.

I felt it pulsing and humming, an otherworldly crescendo as I felt my own climax grow beneath his fingers. He rubbed circular strokes around my thrumming core, slipped his fingers inside me, beckoning me closer to the edge. I whined when his hand slipped out, but within the green of the forest, I saw him raise the hand to his mouth, take every drop of me. I tasted my dew upon his lips.

When he brought me past the edge of pleasure, his lips left mine, latching onto my throbbing cunt to lap me up. He did not stop, sucking, licking, nibbling, stroking, pulsing, endlessly pleasing me as I crested over and over. Each time, he drank me in, it renewed him. I no longer could discern the beginning and end of my pleasure, for I was stimulated beyond my own comprehension.

I could not see the room around me, or feel the table beneath me. Though I could not understand how, I knew that I was no longer in my own world. It was a realm of his own, something I was never meant to see. Yet I saw him, his true colour. He was not jade or evergreen, but the brightest emerald. I tasted the word upon my lips, the gods tongue, but I dared not speak it: _smaragdine._

“Osamu,” a single word cut through like a scythe. “Enough.”

I found myself covered in all manner of food an liquid, and somehow, in the middle of the table that was split into pieces, strewn across the floor. Osamu was _filthy_. I could only imagine how I looked. I laughed in spite of the look on Atsumu’s face, so overcome with pleasure that I could feel nothing else, not even fear.

Osamu kneeled upright between my legs, panting. He grinned at Atsumu, swiping his muscular forearm over his face. It only added to the mess. One broad hand clamped around my neck and pulled me upright. He kissed me deeply, leaving me one last taste of emerald and evergreen.

Rising to his feet, he strode naked across the room.

“She can take it,” he clapped a mucky hand on Atsumu’s shoulder.

He did not look back once.

“It’s going to take forever to get this food out of my hair,” I muttered, in lieu of anything apologetic to say. A moment later, I was spotless from head to toe, though I felt incredibly dizzy. I had forgotten that when godlings want something, they can simply will it to be so. Mortals were the only ones who had to deal with the side effects.

I started to pick up the remains of our feast, only to drop everything to the floor again. There was no real point in cleaning up the last supper I would ever eat. Instead, I drew a bath and soaked my numb limbs until the water grew cold. I found Atsumu in my bed, fuming.

“Are you really that upset, Atsumu? This feels like more than competition.” I was oddly unperturbed by his anger.

“He never should have taken you into himself. Now Itempas will know we have found you. I needed more time.”

“Time for what? And isn’t time sort of trivial to a god?” I scoffed, slipping into the silk sheets beside him.

“Don’t pretend to understand the gods just because you’ve been with one,” he snapped.

“More than one, actually,” I sniffed.

“Oh, is that why you took Osamu so well? Because you’ve been around, have you?” he jeered without a hint of warmth.

I stared at him, saying nothing. He stared back. I pursed my lips. He folded his arms.

“A plague on your progeny,” I sneered.

“I know better than to sow my seed. Look at what it produces,” he retorted.

“How are you trying to insult me for sleeping with whomever I please, however I please when we have both lived for several centuries, and you intend to sleep with me too?” I had never taken well to condescension. “On that point, I no longer want to sleep with you at all, if ever. I actually look forward to you killing me, because if this is what you are always like, I would rather not put up with it for very long.”

“You—”

“And since you’re the god of giving, would you consider giving me some peace and quiet, please?” I prayed, watching as it resonated in his chest. “I would like to enjoy my last night of sleep. The last thing I want is to touch, look at, or speak to you.”

I turned over and went to sleep.

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The next morning, I woke up _wanting_.

Atsumu was still asleep beside me, not because he needed it but because there was nothing else to do. I rolled my eyes, and myself, out of bed, traipsing to the bathroom to apply fragrant oils to my hair. I rather liked the idea of leaving my body behind looking its very best. Besides, the thought of leaving a jar full of it behind made me more mournful than words can contain.

Every time the memory of Osamu’s moans arose, or arousal gripped my core, I let the need build, heat pooling between my thighs. When my hair was complete, fastened in a large bun upon my head, I clambered into the empty bathtub and began to run my hands over my body, a final goodbye to a familiar routine. I made sure to cry out louder when I crested three times upon my own fingers. I was ready to remain petty until the moment I died.

When I exited the bathroom, I found a breakfast laid out on the sheets beside Atsumu. He gave me a small smile. His mouth said sorry, but his eyes said something entirely different. I sat haughtily on a corner of the bed, feeding myself fruit with the same fingers I had only just used. The hungry look on his face tasted far better than any last meal.

“Zora,” he began. “I’d like to give you an apology.”

“For what?” I ate another fruit. I licked my fingers.

“For taking out my frustrations on you. Sometimes, I feel so much of his nature in me. Though we are entirely different, we are one in the same.”

I did not care enough to ask him to elaborate.

“Why were you angry?” I asked instead.

“There is more at stake than you realise. We were sent by Itempas himself to execute you, but when Osamu showed him how much you looked like Enefa, he demanded we bring you alive.”

“You are taking me to Itempas?” Myriad questions darted across my mind, the most important being, “Why?”

Atsumu’s face was the storm that tears ships to splinters, the tempest that shakes the skies and seas. When he answered, I heard the echo of the darkest caves. “He would not say. But I know it is because he still loves Enefa, he grieves her. You are more like her than you would ever know. I think that is why we feel this way in your presence, for we are so much like The Three. Enefa, Itempas and Nahadoth. You, Osamu and I.”

My mind was reeling, every question crowding to my lips and fighting its way out. “What does he want to do with me?”

“I don’t know,” he gritted.

“And how do you feel in my presence?”

“That is hard to explain in mortal tongue—”

“Wait, _you_ are like Nahadoth? I thought Osamu took after him.”

“Why? Because he has dark hair and doesn’t say much?” He raised his eyebrows. I shrugged. “Tell me, what about me made you think of Itempas, other than my gold hair?”

“Aside from your air of superiority and the stiff rod you have instead of bowels, I don’t know,” I threw him a tight smile. “Why does he grieve Enefa? I thought she was a traitor,” I changed tack.

The storm around him thickened, the air churning under the weight of his emotion. “That is what he and his disciples told the world, but it is a lie.” With barely-contained rage, Atsumu recounted the events leading up to Enefa’s death: Itempas’s jealousy, his revenge, the imprisonment of Nahadoth and every lie told and life taken to establish the Arameri, his chosen mortals, as rulers over everything.

“You hate him?” I whispered, afraid to fill the air with mortal comprehension.

“Yes. But Osamu does not. I rely on him to hide my true feelings, for Itempas murdered every godling who opposed him in the war. He shows no mercy.”

“And you want to take me to him?” I yelped, all thoughts of comforting him cast aside.

“No. I must, eventually, but there is somewhere I plan to take you first.”

“Where?” I cocked my head, running my tongue over my lips.

“To Sky,” he answered, oblivious.

“To the Arameri? You might as well take me right to Itempas! What is the difference?” I started shaking, though whether it was fear or outrage, I could not tell.

“Soon, you will understand. There are intentions too dangerous to put into words, in your realm and in mine.”

I rolled my eyes, becoming entirely unimpressed by the gods inability to condense their supernatural thoughts into our tongue, when they created us in the first place. Far too much was left unsaid.

“Give me something, at least,” I groanded. “How do you feel in my presence? … What emotions do I give you?” I asked, appealing to his nature.

He sighed, searching within himself for the words. “With you, we feel… whole. Not complete, though. The beginning of want, but not the end. We feel belonging.” He rubbed his brow, frustrated. “Open yourself to me, and I will show you.”

Our breakfast was swept aside, clattering to the wooden floor. I could not bring myself to care, for my eyes were fixed on Atsumu. He stripped out of his tunic, lifting it from the hem to reveal his sculpted body inch by inch, giving me a show. I feasted on the sight of him, watching like a woman starved as he peeled off his navy, woven trousers. He was divine. With his body spread before me, he raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to slip out of my silk robe. As I took down my hair and undid the knot in my robe, he lazily stroked his length. I had erred in assuming that they would be identical.

I perched on my knees before him. In the morning sunlight streaming through my windows, his hair was golden, the colour of magic. For a moment, I lost my breath.

“What do you want me to do?” My desire simmered in my limbs, knowing that he would not hold back, knowing what it meant to give.

“Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?” he smirked.

I settled myself between his legs, lowering my face until my breath made his muscles twitch. I gave my mouth to him. With my tongue, I coated every surface of his sensitive skin, with my lips I traced the ridges of his veins. When he thrust into my mouth, I felt him grow. I moaned, giving him everything I could, savouring him like he was my last. I began to taste more of him than his mortal shell.

Where Osamu was verdant, evergreen, Atsumu was the colour of the richest blue. At first, I mistook it for drowning. I felt light headed, saw a rippling in the air around me. I heard his cries, and mistook them for my own, for I felt so connected to him. Long, languid thrusts turned to short burst, fingers knotted in my locs, gasps and groans filling the air. 

“Oh gods, you are divine,” he moaned. Then he gave himself to me, and I tasted the colour of awe itself, bright, swirling cerulean. I felt the name of him on the tip of my tongue, but it evaded me.

Atsumu pulled me upwards, bringing his hands to my face. From nowhere, a blade materialised between us. I was too blown out from pleasure to register panic. A raised finger, a small slice, a single drop of blood sliding down his finger.

“Is this how I die?” I asked, though my mouth was already open.

“No," he smiled. “Our blood is not lethal. It’s the opposite,” he slipped his fingers into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue. I sucked, tasting the metal tang of his human shell and flavours that do not exist in this realm.

“What is…?” My pupils grew so large, they engulfed the room.

It took me several minutes before I realised I could no longer feel his touch. When I whined, I heard his voice below me. He looked so far away. I would have called to him, had I not bumped by back against a knotted, fragrant surface. The ceiling? I looked at the twisting vines and flowers around me. Why in skies was I lying on the ceiling?

Finally, it dawned on me. I was high.

The world blurred, and the shadows turned to warm cobalt. I contemplated the origins of joy. I laughed because I could not speak. I understood the colour blue.

After nearly an hour of watching me float naked through the air, my mind unfurling before him like a flower, desire overtook him once again. Atsumu, willed me towards him, kneeling on the bed and keeping me suspended in the air above the mattress. I wrapped my legs around him, though I needed no anchor. When he kissed me, I began to float underwater. I saw the ripples turn to currents, pulling me down and out and around in every direction, stretching me across the waters with nothing more than his fingers. I felt liquid around me, felt it cascade from me. Then I felt it inside of me. Hot as steam and hard as ice.

I cried out his name, arching my back, pressing my skin against his until there was no seam between where mine ended and his began. He thrust into me like evening waves lapping upon a shore, when he sighed it was the sound of a thousand tides, and when he groaned, the crash of sea spray. I felt my body scrape against the jagged rocks, like nails dragging over my skin, the most enchanting pain.

“Give me all of you,” I pleaded.

He pushed me onto the sheets, pinning me down as he gave short, tight circles to my desperate bud and sharp, strong thrusts within me. I cried out, my lungs filling with liquid, every breathtaking ounce of him. We descended, pleasure pulling me down by the belly. The darkest cave appeared over me, yet I was not scared, for it was teeming with fireflies, like stars in the night sky.

The colour of the water was otherworldly, so blue it took my breath away. I drew oxygen, I drew my every need from him. There was a light in the water that shone from an unknown place, and I felt it warm me, felt it speak to me. “Zora,” he whispered my name. My body stretched and rolled like an underwater wave, so close to breaking. “I would give you anything you asked for.”

“Even life?”

He did not answer, for my cry drowned out every sound. With a groan, he gave himself to me. I saw the sacred word, _yinmin_ , the sharpest, warmest, brightest blue, a blue I had never seen on earth.

I tumbled over, carried by wave after wave of pleasure, until I came to a standstill, floating in his arms.

When I eventually came down from my high, I found the remnants of my bed beneath us, the silk sheets torn to shreds.

“What is with you two and destroying my furniture?” I grumbled.

“Do you intend to take it with you?” he chuckled.

We fell into a comfortable silence, my head nestled against his chest, his fingertips meandering over my back. I could hear birds chirping, smell the sweet remains of fruit, feel the sunshine warm my calves, and for a moment, I allowed myself to drift off. I remember thinking, how lovely it is to be alive. I felt a sob coming, the type that swells like a tidal wave and crushes your body beneath it. I had to shake it off. I sat up and gathered my hair from my face.

“So here’s the plan. You take me on the detour, we do whatever needs to be done. Then, you take me to see Itempas, he cries on my shoulder, he remembers that my very existence is forbidden and then allows you to kill me. However, and this is a non-negotiable however, you and Osamu will pleasure me, take me to planes of existence beyond mortal comprehension and whatnot, and the effect will be so overwhelming, so earth-shattering that I will die in your arms. Are we clear?”

Atsumu chuckled, though it did not reach his eyes.

“Zora, nothing the gods do is ever according to plan.”

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“Atsumu brought me here. To Sky. And left me, I might add. Without your company, I would have gone mad by the third day. Truthfully, I am glad I’m not alone right now, prisoners though we may be. At least I have someone to hear my story, to remember me after I am gone.

I do not understand why I was snuck into the palace of the Arameri and unceremoniously dumped in a dungeon. Granted, it is a very luxurious dungeon, but a dungeon all the same. And as much as I appreciate you being here, you have said all of two words to me since I arrived. I have run out of stories to tell. I would start singing to pass the time, but the moment I do, my magic will give away that I am not a normal human prisoner, but that I am a forbidden.

I suppose the only thing I can do is sit, and wait, and talk to you, the human equivalent of a scare crow. What? Don’t look at me like that. You are a scare crow. You look intimidating from afar, but you are, admittedly, very handsome. You’re tall and slender, and you hair, it sticks out at every angle, and it seems to be constantly moving even though there has not once been a breeze pass through. It is quite unnerving, I must say. And you have a permanently frightful mood, that scowl is truly impressive.

I suppose I cannot blame you for being so morose. I would be too if I were a slave to the Arameri. Where do they take you? I know you will not answer, but I have guessed enough myself. I’ve noticed the dark marks on your neck, the burns on your wrist, that it pains you to sit down. They do things to you, don’t they? They… defile you?

May I come closer? Look at your skin. I am so sorry. For whatever they put you through—are those bite marks? Skies. What sort of depraved people are they? And why did they bring you here? Are you being punished for something you did? Please, speak to me, I—”

The door swung open and two servants entered the room. There was no need for guards; he always went with them, though it was never willingly. My heart ached for the man, treated as no more than a toy to cater to the Arameri’s darkest whims. Sometimes he returned bleeding. Sometimes worse. But in the morning when we arose, he would always be healed. I tried to stay up on the second night, to see what healers came through the door and if they would be able to tell me something, anything and about where Atsumu had gone. Every night, as soon as the sun sank, a dark, cold cloud of sleep lay over me and I could not stay awake.

I was growing desperate.

“Wait!” I cried before he crossed the threshold. “What is your name?”

He turned to me, his eyes burnishing like the darkest of nights. Finally, his voice came to me like a shadow across the sky.

“My name is Kuroo.” The door slid closed.

For hours, I sat waiting for his return. Something tugged at my mind, driving me to madness. I searched for the remains of a long-forgotten tongue, casting my mind back to my early days, barely a century old. _Kuroo._ What did it mean? _Kuroo._

As I stared out the window into the endless expanse, I watched the sky fade to black. _Black._

_Kuroo._

_Black._

_Night._

_Darkness._

When realisation struck, it felt as though the window had been wrenched open and I was hurtling to the ground. I had spent all my time in captivity, not with _a_ prisoner but _the_ prisoner. The Lord of Darkness.

“Nahadoth,” I breathed.

I felt a chill crawl over my skin, like fingers tracing down my body. The room seemed to darken, and I felt tendrils of night wrap around my ankles.

“Yes?”


End file.
